


Vitam Post Mortem

by Viskovie



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, a lil bit of angst, i did my best to keep them in-character..., other characters are mentioned but not present, they're dead but it's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viskovie/pseuds/Viskovie
Summary: heaven:(noun)(1) the expanse of space that seems to be over the earth like a dome —usually used in plural(2)often capitalized:the dwelling place of a Deity and the blessed dead
Relationships: Nux/Slit (Mad Max)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Vitam Post Mortem

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my amazing editor, Jess~ 
> 
> This would have been a hot mess if it wasn't for you. ˖◛⁺⑅♡

* * *

**heaven:** _ (noun) _

  1. the expanse of space that seems to be over the earth like a dome —usually used in plural
  2. _often capitalized_ : the dwelling place of a Deity and the blessed dead



* * *

Fire. Grit. A flash of tangled red hair. An unfamiliar gesture. A glint of chrome. More fire. Thunder. Pain. And then… nothing.

Nothing.

~~~

Nux wakes up with a start, the last shreds of adrenaline coursing through him. He isn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. Perhaps he’s dreaming right now? Reality feels hazy and sluggish, sort of like when he takes those pills that Castellan makes – the ones that give you a good, long high but leave you feeling like you’ve been run over by the War Rig. He staggers to his feet as best he can, and rubs his eyes like a Pup just woken from a nap. 

His vision is split into two blurry colours: orange below and stark, vibrant blue above. He blinks a few times and the colours sharpen into a horizon. Hot, golden sand stretches away for miles until it reaches up to touch the sky where it hangs. A soft stir in the air carries the thick smell of dust and dirt, but it’s not as stifling as it should be. It’s quiet enough that Nux can hear his own heart beating a steady rhythm in his chest, and the sound is comforting. It means that he’s still alive. He should, by all rights, be dead. Roadkill.

The details are slowly coming back. That’s how he knows the crash wasn’t a dream, and neither is this. In dreams, details slip away like precious drops of Aqua Cola spilled on the ground. He bites his lip, hard, and is rewarded by a stab of pain. It grounds him and helps to clear his head.

Nux brushes himself off and turns in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings. There’s nothing but dunes and endless blue sky, no matter where he looks. There’s not even a footprint in the sand around him, which is strange.

No footprints, no tire tracks, nothing.

Nux reaches for his knife, unable to shake the growing unease in the pit of his stomach. Maybe this is a nightmare? He stands motionless for a moment, but nothing jumps out at him. He sheaths the blade and sinks back down to the ground. He tries to remember exactly what happened in the chase and the resulting crash, but he can’t conjure up much. He knows that he finally got to drive the War Rig, although the experience was rather bittersweet. He was prepared to die. He’d known from the start that he wasn’t going to see the end of the story, and yet-

For the first time since the sandstorm that had dragged his lancer off the back of his –  _ their _ – car, Nux allows himself to think of Slit. He’d seen him again in the pursuit, perched almost casually on the hood of Max’s old Interceptor, but it had felt like looking through the eyes of someone else. He hadn’t really registered that Slit was not only  _ alive _ , but as wild and bloodthirsty as ever, until it was too late and his childhood friend was gone forever. Gone in a glorious, fiery explosion – just the way he’d always wanted to go.

Nux’s eyes prickle, and he scrubs at his face. War Boys don’t cry! They  _ certainly _ don’t cry over the dead, no matter how much you loved them. 

Initially, the two had been like brothers but, over the years, his feelings had morphed into something deeper, something far more painful. Losing a brother was gut-wrenching, but loving someone with your whole being and  _ knowing _ that person didn’t love you back – that was infinitely worse.

It feels like a knife has been plunged into his chest, and Nux finally gives in. He cries.

~~~

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes up again. His head aches, and his eyes feel puffy and tender. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that they’re probably still bloodshot. The sun has long-since disappeared behind the distant horizon, and he’s lying curled up on the rapidly cooling sand. Somehow, he’s not sunburnt. He’s not hungry either, but his mouth is dry. He sits up, with difficulty, and yawns. He must have cried himself to sleep, and the thought sparks shame deep in his belly.

“You better not have been fuckin’ crying, traitor.”

Nux turns around so fast he thinks he’s given himself whiplash. Standing a few paces away, thick arms crossed over a heavily muscled chest, is Slit. He doesn’t look pleased. He adjusts his stance, settling his weight evenly on both feet, and skewers Nux with a poisonous look.

Nux can’t even bring himself to stand and face him. Instead, he looks away ashamedly, praying the darkness hides his eyes. There’s no point denying that he’d been in tears – no one could never lie to Slit. He somehow always knew. He tries to stifle the sob that threatens to spill out of his chest, but it escapes anyway. Behind him, Slit scoffs and makes a sound like he’s spitting on the sand. Nux doesn’t hear the crunch of footsteps, but suddenly Slit has him by the throat, from behind. He hisses, instinctively elbowing him in the ribs. Slit grunts, but his grip only tightens. Nux forces himself to go still. Slit has big hands, and he’s always been one of the strongest Boys; he’s more than capable of killing him right here. Slit will just keep crushing his airway until he suffocates – it won’t be the first time he’s had to kill someone that way.

“Givin’ up?” Slit taunts in his ear. Nux manages to suck in a deep breath, but doesn’t answer. “You’re lucky you’re already dead, y’know that? ‘Cuz if you weren’t, I’d send ya to Hell  _ myself!  _ ” Slit snarls, letting go of him and shoving him onto the ground. 

It feels like Slit is revving up for a proper fight, so Nux rolls over to intercept the impending kick. But before he can get out of the way, Slit plants his boot on Nux’s chest. Nux doesn’t resist; he just lies there on the cold ground, the lancer’s words ringing in his ears.  _ Lucky you’re already dead _ … Dead. He’s dead. He  _ didn’t _ survive the crash, after all. That explains a lot. Then his brain kicks into gear, and he remembers something.

“You-” he coughs. “You died days ago!” 

Slit’s face twitches. He’s seething. “Yes.” He bites out.

“I witnessed you. It was…”  _ Heartbreaking. _ “Glorious.”

“I know.” Slit is clearly still furious, but he also sounds the tiniest bit smug now.

“Why- why aren’t you in Valhalla?” Nux asks tentatively. He’s going to cry again if he thinks about it too much. Slit growls, taking his foot off his chest and dragging him bodily to his feet.

“You tell  _ me _ , you fuckin’ smeg.” He spits, and Nux flinches. 

He doesn’t understand. He remembers that Slit didn’t Chrome himself, but he had witnesses and he had fire – surely that would have been enough to get him into Valhalla, into the Hall of Heroes? Slit must see his confusion in his face, because he grabs Nux’s chin and forces him to look to the right.

Huge, glittering gates stand where, a minute ago, there had been nothing. A sun, it seems, shines from behind them, lighting up the night and making it hard to look at them. Nux squints. The gates don’t appear to have a true form, as they shift and change every time he blinks. They’re chrome, and gold, and bronze, and more colours that he doesn’t have names for. The bars ripple like Aqua Cola, and appear solid as stone. Nux can’t see what lies beyond.

“Valhalla…” He murmurs, awestruck. Slit nods bitterly.

“I’ve been tryna get in for days now.” He says angrily, and Nux breaks his trance to look back into his face. “Can’t without ya, it seems.” Slit continues, looking like he wants to strangle Nux again. He lifts his hands, gingerly peeling his gloves off. Underneath, his palms are blistered and raw. A few of the blisters have popped, and his skin glistens in the light of the Gates. It looks painful.

“I tried to touch ‘em,” Slit rumbles, carefully putting his gloves back on. “Got burned every time.” He explains through gritted teeth. Nux’s stomach sinks. If  _ Slit _ can’t get into Valhalla, then he’s got no chance. Slit is the War Boy ideal: he’s tough, he’s skilled, he’s ruthless, and – on top of everything else – he’s unfairly handsome. Nux shakes his head. No going down  _ that _ road, not today. Or ever.

Slit is eyeing the Gates and drumming his fingers on his bicep. Suddenly, he grabs Nux’s hand and steps toward them. Nux hangs back reluctantly. If Slit’s hands got burnt, he’d probably go up in flames as soon as they got anywhere near. 

If Slit notices his hesitation, he pays it no attention. He drags him forward, grimacing every now and then at the pain in his palm. They stop about two feet from the Gates, and Slit turns to look at him. The light emanating from Valhalla frames him like a halo. He looks like a god, and Nux feels his eyes well up again. He rubs at them until the tears are gone, pretending to have sand in his eye. Slit isn’t fooled. He glares menacingly, a muscle in his neck twitching. 

“I can’t get into Valhalla by myself, dipshit, an’ if you fuck this up by  _ cryin’  _ again…” He trails off, the unspoken threat hanging heavily in the air between them. Nux nods mutely, not trusting himself to speak. Slit takes him by the hand again and reaches for the Gates. 

There’s a loud sizzle, like guzzoline splashing on searing hot sheet metal, and Slit recoils with a howl. 

He drops Nux’s hand and rips his glove off again. It doesn’t come off cleanly. His skin has been burned again and the fabric has partially fused with it. Nux manages to keep from retching when he sees the mess that Slit’s palm has become, but it’s a nasty injury. Blood is running down his arm from where the mutilated skin has been torn away and, for the first time in his life, Slit is shaking. All the colour has drained from his face and he’s a little unsteady on his feet. Shock, Nux knows. Not fear, or even pain. Shock. Slit had been so sure this would work, that he’d finally achieve the eternity he’d given his life for.

He helps him sit down, and gently unties Slit’s scarf. He carefully wraps his mangled hand in it, even though he’s sure it’s not clean enough. But it’s not like they have anything better to use. When he’s finished, Slit lies back on the sand, staring up at the night sky. Nux glances at the Gates, but they’re gone. He lies down next to his lancer, unsure of what to do next. 

There’s a few beats of silence. Nux has so much that he wants to say but he has no words to say any of it. He thinks about all the times they’d been together like this - the cool night air on their skin, the stars far above, flinging what he now knew to be “shows” across the universe. Neither of them were soft; they didn’t seek out moments like that, but had never shied away either. 

He sighs, wishing away the tension between them. He’s disillusioned with the Immortan’s teachings, knows them to be false and self-serving, but here he is at the Gates of Valhalla. Was his betrayal the reason Slit couldn’t get in? If they could only enter together as Driver and Lancer, had he cost Slit hard-won eternal paradise? The thought worms into his mind and sticks there, taunting him cruelly. 

Nux rolls over to face Slit, still unsure of how to voice his feelings. He decides to keep it simple. Slit always liked things to be simple. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. Slit doesn’t react. Nux frowns. Sure, the lancer has hearing problems but there isn’t even a breath of wind to carry the words away. He tries again, managing to be a little louder. Slit turns his head, his iron grey eyes drilling into him. 

“I know. I heard you the first time.” He says. “I just wanted to hear you say it again.” 

For the third time in less than a full day, Nux feels tears spill over his cheeks. He sits up, trying to hide, but Slit grabs his arm and roughly tugs him back down. He lands almost on top of his lancer, causing Slit to grunt with the impact. Before he can really do anything, Slit has his arms around him. However, it feels more like a restraint than an embrace.

“We gotta figure this out.” Slit mutters, shifting onto his side to hold Nux to his chest. “Not the Valhalla thing - that’s either gonna happen by itself or it’s not. We gotta sort out... this. Us.” He adds. Nux nods, working his hand free to rub at his eyes. He doesn’t want to ask exactly what Slit means by that, doesn’t want to hope. Slit’s jaw works for a moment before he says anything else. 

“Why’d you run?” He asks plainly. “Why did you turn your back on  _ everything  _ we knew, and side with Furiosa when she betrayed the Immortan?” He doesn’t sound angry anymore, which is unusual for him. He just sounds tired, and it breaks Nux’s heart a little further. In the silence he can almost hear Slit’s heartbeat. 

“I didn’t… not at first….” Nux murmurs, half to himself. 

“Hey?” 

“I didn’t switch sides immediately. I got into the Rig, and then… I don’t know exactly what happened. Something changed.” Nux says, voice trembling. “Here.” He adds, gesturing to his chest. Slit narrows his eyes. He seems to mull over his next question. Nux sniffles quietly. He’s trying to keep it together, really, but Slit’s making it horribly difficult. His arms have loosened around Nux, so now it’s  _ less  _ like a restraint and  _ more  _ like an embrace. 

When Slit finally asks his question, it takes Nux completely by surprise. 

“Did you fuck one of ‘em? One of the Wives?” 

“Wh- no!” Nux stammers, thrown. Why would Slit be asking that? Why does he sound so strained? 

“Did you fuck your Bloodbag?” Slit adds, his expression guarded and his tone even weirder. Nux draws back a tiny bit. Yeah, Max is decent-looking, but he’s not Nux’s type. Besides, they were stuck in the Rig with the five Wives  _ and  _ Furiosa - if he was gonna fuck anybody, it wasn’t going to be Max. 

“No! I didn’t do anything like that...” He replies slowly, searching Slit’s face. That seems to satisfy Slit, and he drops the subject. They lie in silence again, but somehow it’s not as tense as it was before. He still has his arms around Nux. 

~~~

At some point they must have dozed off, because Nux wakes to the cold, grey light of early dawn. He shivers and curls a little tighter around himself. He’s got his head on something solid and warm and gently moving. It turns out to be Slit’s chest. 

Nux closes his eyes again, remembering all that happened last night. He shifts around, getting comfortable, and Slit begins to wake up. He yawns and stretches luxuriously, like a lizard basking in the sun. Nux debates whether or not he can get away with pretending to still be asleep. He decides to give it a shot.

It seems to work because Slit starts absently rubbing Nux’s shoulder. Nux snuggles a little closer. He can hear the gentle thud in Slit’s chest, which  _ does  _ seem a little out of place, all things considered. 

He gives himself away when he pets Slit’s bicep without thinking. Slit rumbles and pushes Nux into the sand. He sits up groggily, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and turns to give Nux a beady look. Nux snickers, too lost in the soft familiarity of this moment to worry about Valhalla right now. 

“Just how long have you been awake?” Slit grumbles, yawning again. Nux shrugs. 

“Not long. Few minutes?” 

Slit makes a noise of complaint, and begins cracking his knuckles one by one. Nux shivers as a cool wind begins to pick up. He shuffles closer to Slit and leans against the lancer’s broad, bare back. Briefly, he wonders about why Slit never seems to get too hot or too cold. Maybe his muscles insulate him against changes in temperature? Who knows. 

Slit lets out a quiet hiss as he carefully pries the makeshift bandage off his hand. He inspects the wound, but it isn’t getting any better. If anything, it looks worse; the skin has blistered and softened overnight, and it makes Nux want to vomit. He can deal with blood and gore, but he never had the stomach for infection and pus. Slit clenches his jaw and rewraps his palm. Nux nuzzles his shoulder, unsure of what else to do. If they had water, he’d insist on cleaning the injury out but… 

Slit tries to headbutt him, but the angle is wrong and it doesn’t really make contact. The staples in his cheek glint in the growing dawn. 

“C’mon.” He rumbles, getting to his feet. Nux follows suit, and glances around. There’s nothing but sand, all the way to the horizon. 

“May as well start walking.” Slit adds. “Not like we got anythin’ else to do.”

“What if Valhalla comes back?” Nux asks nervously. The Gates do seem a little… temperamental.

“It follows us.” Slit replies, brushing the sand off his pants. “Shows itself ‘bout once a day.” Nux nods, trying to get his head around that. Slit takes a step, then stops. Hesitantly, he offers his less-burned hand. Nux takes it with a small smile. Was Slit always this soft when there was no one else around? 

The sun is just clearing the tops of the distant dunes, and has yet to provide any warmth, so they walk closer together than is probably necessary. Nux remembers Max’s worn jacket wistfully, rubbing his arms as they face into the wind. 

~~~

They walk until the sky begins to darken again and the first stars appear in the east. Nux is glad to stop; his feet are aching and he’s thirstier than before. Surprisingly, he’s still not hungry yet. Slit doesn’t seem to be, either, but when he speaks again his voice is a little hoarse. 

“Help me dig a hole, here.” He says, motioning to a spot on the ground. Nux raises an eyebrow. 

“Why?” He asks suspiciously. “What are we looking for?” 

“Nothing,” Slit answers brusquely. “You can sleep on top of the sand again, if you want, but I’d rather stay warm for longer.” That makes sense, Nux supposes. He kneels next to Slit, and they start scooping out a hole big enough for both of them. It takes a while, because the sand is too soft and dry to properly dig away. 

Eventually, they’ve managed to carve out a ditch that’s... sort of the right size.  _ It’ll be a squeeze, _ Nux thinks skeptically. He glances upwards. The bright moon is rising steadily, casting long shadows of its own. He shuffles into the hole, next to Slit, and has no choice but to press against him. The sand is still warm, and Nux can feel his eyelids already starting to grow heavy. He wiggles around until he’s more comfortable, tucking his arms in and resting his head against Slit’s throat. He gets an arm around his torso for his efforts. 

Slit sits upright unexpectedly, accidentally giving Nux a crick in his neck. Nux follows his gaze to the Gates, which have reappeared as predicted. Before he can react, Slit is scrambling out of the hole, dragging him along by the wrist. The Gates are every bit as glorious as before, but their beauty is somewhat marred by the knowledge of what lay underneath his lancer’s gloves. Nux rubs the sand off of his cheek and stifles a yawn. 

Slit walks with purpose to stand a pace away from the Gates, again. He lifts his hand hesitantly, but doesn’t reach for the bars. He’s preparing to be rejected again, Nux realises. It puts a hollow feeling in his stomach. 

“Here,” he says, stepping forward. “Lemme try.” Nux smiles, trying to reassure Slit. However, the lancer doesn’t look convinced. 

“Slit, you need your hands more’n me.” Nux urges, touching his arm. 

“Can’t drive with fucked up palms.” Slit argues.

“Can’t lance, either.” Nux fires back. Slit opens his mouth, but doesn’t have a counter-argument. He frowns deeply, and bites his lip. Nux takes his hand - gently, as it surely still hurts - and reaches for the Gates. He closes his eyes and braces for the pain- 

And nothing happens. His fingers connect with the Gates, and the metal is warmer than he expected but nowhere near hot enough to burn him. He opens his eyes slowly, and looks back at Slit. The lancer looks like he’s been punched. Nux grins, gripping his hand a little tighter in excitement. He shoves at the Gates, and they begin to swing open. As they do, the bright light gets harsher and harsher until he’s forced to close his eyes against it. 

When he opens them again, the first thing he notices is the green. It’s everywhere, kind of like when he would wander through the Top Gardens back at the Citadel. There’s green stuff on the soft, black ground, and climbing on poles stuck haphazardly here and there, and even one or two huge, leafy stick-things.  _ Trees _ , that’s what Capable had said they were. The next thing Nux notices is the water. It’s flowing through a shallow groove in the dirt that’s too straight and even to be natural. 

He’s reminded of Slit’s presence when the lancer drops to his knees beside the water and splashes some onto his face. Nux laughs, and follows suit. The air is cool and smells sweeter than the arid, dusty air of the Wasteland. He feels better than he has in… he can’t even remember how long. He’s not so sick anymore, can’t feel the bite of the tumors on his neck. 

Slit drinks his fill, and sits back on his haunches. There’s a few stray droplets running down his face and neck, having escaped through the gaps in his scars, and Nux is mesmerised. Slit seems to feel his gaze, and wipes the drops away with the back of his hand. He tugs his gloves off and flexes his fingers. His palms are healing, Nux sees. They’re not back to normal, but the pus is gone and the burns no longer look so raw. Slit looks up at him and grins. He launches himself at Nux, knocking him over and sending himself sprawling. He laughs freely, grabbing Nux and dragging him in for a tussle.

They roll around for a bit, wrestling and playing like they did when they were Pups, until they both lie panting in the shade of one of the trees. Eventually, Nux sits up and brushes the dirt off his pants. He gathers up all the little bits and pieces that fell out of his pockets before Slit can swipe anything, but the lancer just grins lazily up at him, still lying flat on his back. 

“If I’d known all it would take to get here was your dumb ass, I would come back and killed ya days ago!” He teases, but there’s no malice in it. Nux scoffs. 

“Like  _ you  _ coulda killed  _ me _ .” He says, not bothering to keep the smile off his face. 

“Could too!” Slit protests, raising himself up onto his elbows. Nux raises an eyebrow skeptically. 

“Nah.” He drawls, making a show of examining his fingernails. “Didn’t I have ya totally pinned just a minute ago?” 

“I  _ let  _ you pin me!” 

“Oh yeah? Wanna see me do it again?” 

“Ah, fuck off, pup.” Slit grumbles, looking away. Nux snickers, before taking mercy and laying down next to him. He traces the scars on Slit’s belly, making him shiver. Slit’s arm finds its way around him again, but it really  _ is  _ an embrace this time. They listen to the sound of everything growing around them, truly at peace for the first time in their lives. They didn’t have to fight for this, didn’t have to win it and don’t have to protect it from anyone; all they have to do is enjoy it. 

_ Angharad was right about almost everything,  _ Nux muses, as he settles in for a nap.  _ Valhalla is real, and the world isn’t quite dead yet. _


End file.
